


Making Love To Me

by PastaBucket



Category: The Ring (2002)
Genre: Creepy, F/M, Ghost Sex, Horror, Necrophilia, Not So Short & Sweet After All, POV First Person, Sexual Horror, Shameless Smut, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastaBucket/pseuds/PastaBucket
Summary: You searched for "Samara Morgan smut", didn't you?You wanna find out what it's like to make love to me?Don't be shy - come here. I'll show you.
Relationships: Samara Morgan/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

The wet fabric of my the white dress cling to my body as you lift it up to gain access to my crotch. Underneath it, my legs await, their flesh long drained of all the colors of life, yet perfectly preserved for you, without a single trace of rot or decay. My damp skin is equally cold to the touch, void of bodyheat. I will take some getting used to. You lift my thighs up and take in the scent of my slit. It was a long time since I last produced sweat or urine from there, yet there is the faintest smell of its absence. You grab onto my hip, before hesitantly extending your tongue to taste my narrow opening. My labia parts and your tongue slides into my cold pussy. It tastes almost like water. Your hairs stand up on the back of your neck, as you realize that what you taste is lubrication. Yes, I am lubricating. It's not the amount that a living woman would produce, but it's enough for you to do the deed.

It is time.  
You take a pillow and place it underneath my hip, so that you can push into the deepest reaches of me, before kneeling between my legs. You look down on me, bracing yourself. You wanted me, and now you're having me. My hair still covering my entire face, I look just as you remember me. It worries you. I could kill you so very easily if I wanted to. Even the slightest twitch from me, would sent you running. ...so let's not do that. Ejaculate inside me. I'll let it happen. Trust me.

Slowly and varily you lower your warm erection to my opening. You feel the cold, wet orifice touching your tip, beyond which only the depths of death awaits. You look at me and you swallow. As an excuse, you remind yourself that you love me enough to commit to this. Then, with one final sigh, you push further, breaching the point of no return, my lifeless lips parting aside for you. Slowly your tip begins sinking into my wet, cold flesh, lubricated my whatever slimy substance I've produced to lubricate them with. Down, down into the dark depths of me it sinks, down to the very bottom of the well, as you surrender more and more of yourself. Finally you feel my labia stretch out around your base, and just as you feel that you can push no further into me, you feel an end close around your tip. You've reached the bottom of me. This is where you'll deposit. Pushing more, you explore down there, your tip caressing over the frictionless cushion that is the entrance to my womb. Far beyond your fear, you lean down over me, and underneath all that foreboding black hair you find a mouth to kiss. Your whole body is in motion now, grinding your shaft into my yielding body. You bury your face into my shoulder and moan from the pleasure it's giving you as you masturbate yourself with my dead flesh. Gradually you learn to let go of your inhibitions, and your pace picks up. You know I won't mind. One cruel thrust after another you burrow yourself into me, and the pleasure my ribbed walls give you only increases.

When you feel the tingling sensation begin to build, it's all too soon. Bracing yourself, you slow down again, and rest yourself on top of me, your face against my thick curtain of hair. You want this moment to last as long as possible. You can feel your all too sensitive tip pushing against the cushion down there, the two tips positioned perfectly for the transfer. Mad with passion, you wrap your arms around me, and with one final push, you feel how you begin to release, your dick contracting in wild, rhythmic pumps, ejaculating millions upon millions of living sperm to die in the darkest recesses of my lifeless cavity. Persistently you push and push, until you're sure that you can't even produce another drop, before you finally collapse on top of me.

You've done well. ...but still was just the first act of many. I'm not going anywhere. You could fall asleep inside me and I wouldn't mind. I'm forever yours, just as your sperm is forever mine.


	2. Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's smut without consequences?

As you enter, I lie in the bed before you, because I haven't moved an inch this whole time, but still I look different now. My abdomen is protruding obscenely underneath my dress, distended far beyond the possibility of innocent gas. How many times have you emptied your seeds into the darkest reaches of me? Did you think that nothing would come of it? Did you think that nothing within my depths would find it, consume it, and start to grow?  
Whatever it is, I am due now. Whatever it is, it has to come out. You have two options: You can either wait for it to find the natural way out, and watch as it slowly squeezes itself out through the canal that you've so enjoyed, stretching and tearing it open in the process, as its fingers dig into the mattress outside in grip after grip as it pulls itself into this world. ...or you can go and fetch a sharp knife from the kitchen, and let it out yourself.

Having pulled the wet fabric of my white gown up, you stare at my exposed belly, as it towers up from me. You watch for it to stir, but it's as unmoving as I am. Somehow you made this unholy thing in me, or at least it consumed what you gave it for nutrition.  
You slowly extend the large blade of the knife an inch above my protruding belly button, that marks the peak of the crescent. You don't know that you'll release into this world by doing this, but there is just no other way.  
With am audible wince of disgust, you push the blade down. Even though you can't bare to watch, you can still feel the sharp blade encounter a brief resistance, before my skin is pierced and my flesh starts to yield as the edge severs. Down and down you push, with an ever increasing scream escaping your throat, until you can push no more. Against your better judgement, you open your eyes, and see that what remains of your knife, is now just a handle, its blade embedded deep into from my belly.  
You're not done, though. Again you grab the handle, and now you begin pushing it down toward my crotch. You have to saw me a bit, because my flesh is stubborn.

When you reach down to my pubis, you decide that it has to be enough. The whole point of doing this, was to not ruin the good times you had, right?  
You put the drenched knife aside. The opening that you've created in me, is as large as you could bring yourself to make it, but what's inside isn't coming it. You sincerely hope that your incision was enough to kill whatever could be mistaken for life existing in there, because you realize that if it's not coming out on its own, you have to drag it out.  
It's hard enough to kill your own sanity enough to push your hands into the very uterus of someone you love, but you're about to do something even more insane. With a face distorted in disgust, and exhaling through your teeth, you push one of your hand into the opening, and then another. My skin stretches around over them, and around your wrists, before you feel your palms push against something in there - something indescribable. Your child.  
Your exploring hands following its form to its sides, your fingers curl to dig into a hold, and a moment later you're pulling something that feels almost like a head. Out, out, and towards you, you pull. The sides of your opening isn't enough, but as you stubbornly yank, you rip me further open, and slowly but mercilessly, the twisted, wicked fruit of your labour is coming to light. What you're slowly extracting is even now indescribable, because what you're witnessing is nothing but a ambiguous clump of long, black hair.  
Then your muscles stiffen as an unending inhuman scream, like nails on a chalkboard, begins to pierce the air.  
It's alive.  
Whatever you're straining to pull into your unwilling embrace, is alive.


End file.
